Lofotr Viking Museum, Borg

Zagan the motorhome’s again sat at the base of sweeping green and scree-footed cliffs, facing out to the broad white sand beach at Haukland (N68.19924, E13.52961). I can see the clifftop through our roof light, it’s kinda cool. It’s free to stay here too, and after sharing our 100 NOK-a-night place last night with 17 other motorhomes and campervans, I imagine we’ll have plenty of company this evening too.

Free overnight motorhome parking at Haukland

Throwing axes, shooting arrows at an apple, rowing a long boat and sporting helmets while pulling out a huge sword? Not quite our average Thursday, but that’s what we’ve been up to today. In a fit of history-sniffing, we rolled up to the Viking Museum at Borg earlier on, and proceeded to get our £16-apiece ticket’s worth (N68.24569, E13.75786)! Asking around fellow vanners who’d already been to the museum, we’d received ratings ranging between “oh my god, it’s FANTASTIC!” to “it’s OK”. Gotta say, we loved the place.

Viking Chieftain’s House at Borg

Being here in northern Norway it takes the tiniest of imaginations to fall backwards 1000 years to Viking times, especially when someone’s gone to the trouble of reconstructing an entire Viking chieftain’s house a few meters from where it originally stood. The Lofotens look like a custom-built backdrop for a Viking odyssey, a multi-million budget computer-generated scenic wonder, with a few teeny weeny telegraph poles and massive white (off-white in our case…) motorhomes giving the 21st century game away.

I piled the pressure on Ju by telling the local staff we were from Nottingham and were descended from Robin Hood. She grazed the apple.

Although when it came to my turn I got the impression they weren’t expecting much from my archery?

Maybe that’s why I really enjoyed the museum. Nothing like as impressive as the Egyptian Museum in Turin, but that place felt oddly disjointed – the stuff in the museum just didn’t belong in Northern Italy. The stuff here, in the museum and the adjacent longhouse, couldn’t have felt more at home, mainly because they were actually found on the spot after a farmer uncovered the place setting his plough a few cm deeper than usual. That plus I’ve had a boyhood-era dream of living out my days sinking mead and chewing on roasted meat in a long hall, Beowulf-style. Mead was indeed available, but at £85 a glass (I exaggerate only slightly), I immediately gave up on my dreams and we made do with mucking about with the helmets and stuff.

Oi! Hands our of my ye-old-Nutella jar!

Give a man a battle-axe…

The museum presented a serious side of course, starting with a film depicting the chieftain being forced through political change to load everything, goat and all, onto a boat to emigrate to Iceland. Various finds from the site were displayed in well-lit cases, coupled with English (or various other languages) audible commentary. Folks wandered about in Viking-era dress, some of them seriously crafting stuff up as though the iPhone generation looking on didn’t exist. The boat rowing was a bunch of fun, the provision of a life jacket being the only nod to health and safety as we clambered on board and commenced much oar-clattering and grunting as we rowed about the lake. I swear the chap from Belarus in front of me somehow managed to have even worse timing than me – that’s my excuse.

Us two rowing a Viking boat, as you do…

Woo, a couple of Brits have turned up and parked next to us – time to grab a glass of wine and go have a chat. A few more photos follow from the museum…

Cheers, Jay

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